


Cold

by PrettyArbitrary



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/pseuds/PrettyArbitrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is naked and as cold as winter marble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dirty_Corza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/gifts).



> Prompt from [Dirty_Corza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza): "john/sherlock cthulhu or ballroom dancing au."
> 
> Clearly I did not go with the ballroom dancing.

John opens his eyes when he feels the bed dip. Sherlock swings one immaculately naked ivory leg over his hips and stretches out luxuriously atop him, a heavy, living weight of muscle and bone. 

He is cold as winter marble.

John can’t move, except to reach up and wrap his arms around Sherlock’s frigid shoulders. The chill soaks into him till he’s wracked with shivers, but Sherlock’s eyes are so warm when they meet John’s with a teasing smile, and his lips are the perfect soft kiss of the first winter snowfall as they brush at John’s with gentle desire. Even though John knows what comes next, he can’t bear to turn that affection away. He’s wanted too badly for too long, aches too deeply, and Sherlock knows it.

They kiss langorously, mouths moulding and tasting, in just the way John never believed he could have. And when John’s lips part under Sherlock’s coaxing tongue, Sherlock’s breath pours into him, a gelid tendril creeping down into his lungs. John can feel it there, the frost piercing the blood-air barrier of his lungs to invade his bloodstream, feasting on his heat to multiply in his veins and spread through his body.

He wakes up alone, chest aching with the cold. Every night, it seeps a little deeper. John doesn’t know whether to love or dread sleep.


End file.
